


Resignation

by ninety6tears



Category: Dublin Murder Squad Series - Tana French
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Time, Guilt, M/M, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-28 21:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17794883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninety6tears/pseuds/ninety6tears
Summary: Richie comes clean.





	Resignation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tristesses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/gifts).



To my imagining, I took my time with what Richie told me like an old judge weighing the outcomes, on the outside. Inside I was all molten, the thoughts starting over again and again only to melt off unfinished. It's not that I was trying to fool anyone—he had to know I wanted to give him a serious bollocking—but my head couldn't get out of the immediate crack of anger that had stilled me.

I was sitting on my bed while he stood close to the door, which was a few inches open in case of anything with Dina. When I glanced over Richie was still leaning hangdog against the wall, hands in pockets, hair a little damp from the drizzle outside.

It was a mistake to look. Richie helplessly said, "I really am sorry. God, I know I shouldn't—''

"I'm trying to _think_ , Richie.'' I thought. "None of your flatmates would have any reason to be in your room? Not even to borrow a pen?''

"Even if..." He shook his head. "It wasn't in plain sight, but. No one else saw.''

"No one except Dina,'' I finished.

"I don't _know_ if she did,'' he protested, voice a little hushed. "She was in a state, you know—kept saying she needed a match, just a match like she'd never even heard of lighters. I tried telling her we don't smoke in the flat—''

"Isn't she fun?'' I interrupted wryly. ''And was that before or after you got to your brilliant thought that maybe she and I aren't just old pub pals?''

''I told you, she didn't just up and tell me she was your sister. Only I had the thought it was something like that, and it suddenly made a lot of sense.''

"This thought just came out of nowhere?"

It was perfectly, darkly possible Dina had made some kind of pass at our fallen Richie, and I'd been examining every strange blush on him with a quick black sinking feeling since he'd shown up at my place with her and a pink look of shame; I hadn't expected the flush to come back just then, and my hands clenched.

"Well?"

"It was something in the eyes, I think.''

I'd had my fill a long time ago of guys falling victim to Dina’s little blue bombs, and I scoffed. "We've never been told we look alike.''

"Those eyes, sure. Maybe not just the same color, but something about them…'' He paused, checking his claim, embarrassed at his own insistence. "But once I had the thought, I was thinking of that call you got. Not like I was listening in, you know that, but it sounded a bit like family trouble with a runaway, I was wondering, maybe a niece. But I started to think this Dina, she...wasn't well. And it was an assumption but it was one that made sense, in the big picture.''

There were parts of him that made a good detective. I couldn't overlook that. I knew I might as well use it for the moment, for Dina. "How bad was she?"

His face flinched awkwardly.

"There's no offense to be taken here. You're right. She's not well. I'm only asking about her.''

At the back of my mind, I knew I was massaging his honesty, warming him up with the easier subject. But it was fine that he gave it a moment, finally saying, ''If not for thinking about that phone call, I might not have thought there was anything really wrong. She was acting wound up, a little weird, obviously. But I don't know, I may or may not have thought to worry about her in that way.''

I took a second to feel relieved that Dina was lying on my couch and out of trouble for maybe half the night. I only took the second. "What made you change your mind?" I demanded.

Not quite off guard, he argued, ''I was going to tell you, eventually—''

"Even if that's true, you weren't going to tell me _tonight_. Let's start there.''

I'm not sure he even knew what was the truth, so we were both glad to be free of that point for the moment. "Okay. It was like…I knew that whatever this whole deal was, you hadn't wanted me to know about it. I'm only glad to help, but you didn't want that; you had the chance to tell me and you didn't. I mean, we've not known each other very long, right?''

I caught something sad, maybe regretful, in his eyes. He shook it off, but my chest was going tight, and I wished he'd rush to the point.

Something in the search for the words made him come over and sit down, somewhere between me and the far side of the mattress. "It was like you're ashamed of this somehow. Not like ashamed of _her_ , but...ashamed of how it affects you, or of having complications at home. Which is bollocks by the way; you're obviously just dealing with a lot and handling it better than some family would, but it was none of my business and I just knew that when I phoned you about this girl, you weren't going to be happy that I knew about her. And on top of everything else, that just made me feel like shit.''

Some grim smile came over me. "So you thought you’d double up on the bad news.''

I stopped him from speaking with my hand. He sat, fidgeted. I couldn't look at him. That bright tremble of unusual earnestness I'd gotten used to seeing in him was right there, and I resented it for not being crushed out of him before he'd ever had the chance to blindside me like this.

After a minute, I cleared my throat. "What do you expect is the best case scenario going forward, here?"

I was relieved by the weight he gave it. "I was thinking that I might have to step down."

It was going to be one of the hardest things he'd ever do; I was numb about this, but consoling was in order, for the neatness if nothing else. ''I haven't got the energy just now to get into all the ways you're not a good fit for Murder, son. I don't expect you to be able to see it anytime soon, but maybe someday you'll understand this mess just saved you from a much worse mistake some time down the line. I'm sorry to make you take it gracefully, but your best option is to go into the office and tell O'Kelly it's not worth the sleep you're losing at this level of investigation, make it out that you've come to this on your own. I'd mention Domestic Violence; he might sneer at it but he'll put in a good word for you, and after deciding you can't handle this kind of case something like that's the best you're going to get, unless you'd like everyone in the office thinking you just _prefer_ the responsibilities of the floater pool.''

As he took this in I could see him wanting several times to give into the most feeble protests, completely unable to imagine that his life would be this, DV or even less, and that worst of all he might even accept this all in the long run. But his eyes kept darting around the carpet, and he kept quiet except to say, ''And if I don't?''

I couldn't muster irritation that he was making me say it. "I tell O'Kelly everything."

In that next silence, I knew I'd done enough to call myself merciful, and yet I had to say more.

"But if you do what I'm asking…'' I swiped a hand over my brow, letting out a long breath. "Of course I mentioned it to O’Kelly, you see, the day we went to Brennan’s place. And suddenly bringing this piece up after we've been interviewing Conor as the same old suspect...obviously that doesn't add up.''

''So we say I dropped something, a key ring or some yoke and had to go back. I might not have thought to check in the cushions the first time."

"If we were both having a total moron day when we searched, fine. It smells funny but it's the best we can do. The point is we're going to have to go over this version until we believe it. One or both of us is going to have to talk about it in court. And if at any point there's a slip in this story that looks suspicious with evidence this damning, it's going to look a hell of a lot dirtier than for just the one white lie about the timeline to look like a good explanation. You understand that?'' My voice was low enough for the late night, but I made it clear and heavy. ''So that you can step down gracefully, I am going to have to lie, on the record, for the first time in my career, for you.''

To anyone else all this stress I was rubbing in could have looked like paranoia, but what undid me was the wounded diffident look from him that said he knew this part of it was too big and raw for apologies. My strings broke. I closed my eyes, my posture falling and my face sinking into my hands with some longing to dive away from this whole night.

I didn't even know if it was the right thing for Richie; DV had its share of broken women and concussed kids, even on routine patrol there were judgments he could fail to get right, and no matter what he did, no matter how naive and stupid he might think he could get away with being going forward, what he would do would be what I had allowed him to do.

I breathed heavily on the memory of his concerns over me, of me choosing not to tell him about Dina, choosing not to push it when he didn't tell me the truth in that cold moment surrounded by Brennan’s gaff. The two of us sharing coffee and sandwiches and communicating in glances like I never quite had with any other detective. Packed into that brief time was all that building up to something I thought might be a real partnership, only for the same old responsibility to crash down on me, leaving me the wise old guard mentoring and carrying the weight with nobody shouldering my troubles in return. I knew that this flaw of Richie's would have come out sooner or later, but it was dizzying that what we’d started could so quickly be over, just as I'd barely begun wanting it.

In those plunging couple seconds I was pulling some reaction from Richie—I heard helpless, aborted synonyms of how sorry he was in pained whispers, and then his hand was on my shoulder. The t-shirt I slept in was thin, suddenly warmed at the peak of my clavicle.

Sinking, holding my breath: you forget what it's like, living alone. An everyday touch so harmless yet completely out of order, I couldn't explain why I allowed it, but then when Richie’s thumb started moving a soothing motion, I didn't.

Stirring into glaring at him, my glance landed hotly on the thinnest part of his arm, accusing the delicate pale wrist in mad confusion.

He took it away, his eyes dazed.

''I have to pee,'' he said in a thin voice, and left the room.

''...Jesus Christ,'' I hissed to the emptiness, wanting to punch something.

 

 

He was a long time in the jacks. I could pick up the water splashing like he was rinsing his face, then a long quiet. Dina turned in her sleep; we both might have heard it. My throat was going tight, like I was allergic to him being here and knowing just this much of my life. I wanted a long shower. I didn't want to have to ask him to leave.

He stepped quietly back into the room. "Just my jacket," he stammered, going to where he'd tossed it on the desk chair under my window.

Stiffly I began to reach for my keys where I'd left them on the nightstand, stood up. "You can take my car back to your flat," I said, not very kindly.

He shook his head. "That's alright—''

"You’ll pick me up tomorrow and we’ll start figuring this out.''

But he was waving off the favor, making to slip by me without taking the keys; I snapped, ''Can't you just take it? What the fuck is this?'' and all but tossed them at him, and then as soon as my hands were free they were grabbing at the lapels of his jacket.

He gasped. I was shoving him into the wall.

''Why couldn't you just tell me?'' I shook him and felt an aching thrill at his face struck wide-eyed. His breath came out warm on my neck. ''You really fucked up. You fucked it up,'' I gritted out, because I couldn't say, _You hurt me._

''Mick,'' he breathed out, a rueful groan. And I drank it, mouth against his, pushing my body against him. A small tight moan came from him as I sucked him into a punishing kiss, wet and clumsy, one of my fists slamming dully onto the wall behind his shoulder.

But then it was less messy, his arms warm around my waist, my hand relaxing and finding the back of his neck and guiding his head for my mouth and tongue, guiding his mouth to my neck, thinking about guiding him to my whole body as it resounded against him in the giveaway places. It was worse than strange and I would just have to forgive myself, forgive myself all over him until he was squeezed somewhere between the knuckles I'd had over this part of myself ever since time I couldn't measure.

I loved the feel of his hair against my palm and didn't care if he thought it was tenderness. He was finally cut loose; he knew what to do with me, what he could give me. He kissed his way down. I closed my eyes. I couldn't have shown or taught him any of it. I could only breathe and sigh to his giving.

Something in my chest felt light, cradled, and caught. I could write new rules I'd never break. For now I knew we'd look after each other.

 

 

 

 

/


End file.
